Disclaimer: Supernatural and every character associated with it belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke.

The door bell clanged loudly and Bobby threw his back out as he straightened up from his task. He was in his panic room painting a new sigil onto the wall. Wincing in pain and grumbling with cringeworthy words he slowly made his way to the front door. He peeked through the window to see who was there. It was a woman, but she had turned a little to the side and her hair was hiding her face.

She was above average height for a female, only a few inches shorter than his 5'11" and was of medium frame. She was also well put together; wearing a fitted green military style blazer, its cuffs rolled to just below her elbows. Under the blazer was a short floaty cream dress cinched at the waist with a black belt. Beneath the dress were black leggings or maybe tights, he really didn't know the difference and he couldn't be bothered to find out. The outfit was completed with scuffed but expensive looking army-green biker boots. She had a black bag too, one of those satchel like ones. She did not wear it across her body like most people did these days; instead she carried it over her left shoulder. She had a stack of colourful bracelets on her left wrist and on her right a black masculine watch. He was intrigued by this, as watches were generally dying out, with most people using their phones to tell time. She looked harmless enough, but he had learnt years ago that looks were deceiving. He felt for the gun hidden by his flannel shirt and once satisfied it was easily accessible, he reached for the door handle.

When the door opened, she turned round and extended her hand with a smile and a soft hello. Her outfit, the prim way she held herself and the polite but cool way she greeted him all spoke of an upper middle class upbringing. She had one of those intricate casual rings on her pinky finger.

"Christo!" he exclaimed.

Dropping her hand and frowning in confusion, she looked down at herself wondering what it was about her that had surprised him so much that he'd had to say that. She had no way of knowing it was a test and that she had passed it.

Up close, he could see she was just a kid; maybe fifteen or sixteen. And quite pretty, he observed detachedly. Her olive skin while not blemish free was dewy, curly shoulder length black hair curtained an oval face with full lips, and her small bumpy slightly upturned nose did not detract much from her looks. He took this in quickly before looking into her eyes. Those wide, amber, almond shaped eyes were sad but not haunted; this girl was definitely grieving, probably a new tragedy but she hadn't been touched by evil or horror. He had been around long enough to know that particular look. He wondered what she wanted. Usually when total strangers came to his door, they had haunted eyes, eyes that told him the person had seen something they could not explain, something that scared them shitless. Not this girl.

"Who are you?" he asked in lieu of a greeting.

"My name is Emily. Emily Avis-Raines. I am looking for a John Winchester." She had a soft melodic lilting voice. He thought it went perfectly with the rest of her.

"Why? What do you want with him?"

The girl perked up immediately, and in a breathless excited voice she asked, "Do you know him? Because the lady I spoke to told me to come here. I…"

"Lady? Which lady?" his voice was suddenly loud and a little suspicious.

The girl jumped and started backing away slowly, all the time looking at him warily out of those huge doe eyes. Out in the sun, her hair had fiery highlights. When she was a safe distance away she spoke, "A Miss Missouri Moseley."

Reassured by the name of the informant and regretting his outburst, Bobby grimaced, scratched the back of his neck then said, "I'm not a people person." And that was all the apology she was going to get from him.

The girl did not lose her wary look and did not get closer. Surprisingly, she didn't look scared and the way she now stood was different. She wasn't stiff anymore, she now held herself loosely, as if ready for a fight. Another person would not have noticed the subtle difference, but Bobby had. He was a hunter after all.

"Look, if you're looking for John, then it must be important. You tell me what it is and I'll be sure to tell him."

"Well," the girl suddenly became uncomfortable, hopping from one foot to another and biting her lower lip nervously. It was like she was suddenly reconsidering what she had come for. Bobby thought he heard her mumble, "As if! I don't know you from Adam!"

"Spit it out kid!" he all but growled. She was making him nervous with her behaviour.

"I don't even know your name!" she suddenly exclaimed peevishly. "Miss Missouri just gave me directions to bring me here!"

This girl was a living paradox all right. She was cool and at once fiery, politely constrained and yet unpredictable and a little wild. Society had decreed she be a certain way and she had mostly conformed but underneath, she was tempestuous and spirited and unrestrained.

"It's Singer, I'm Bobby Singer. John Winchester is a ... friend of mine. Is that enough information for you?" this time he actually growled. "Now what the hell is this about?"

"He could be my biological father or he might be related to him!" she exploded abruptly. Bobby's jaw dropped. At his look she bit her lip again and then she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin in a defiant show and huffed, "Well, you asked!"

Bobby lifted his jaw off the ground and waved the girl into his house.

For the first time since he'd answered the door she looked unsure. "Umm I …"

"Oh for the love of God, I'm not going hurt you! If I wanted to, I would have already!" It had sounded less ominous in his head.

She cocked her head to the side as she considered his words, then she walked back to him. She edged into the house sideways, clearly not wanting to turn her back to him. Bobby was amused, and he could not help but be impressed. She was a little naive, but she wasn't a complete idiot. He shut the door.

Standing awkwardly in the tiny entryway he said, "So, would you like a cup of coffee or something?"

Again she began to shift nervously.

"Really? This again? You can come with me to the kitchen and supervise the proceedings! Make sure I don't poison you or something!" he groused. If that's even what she was worried about. She looked like the kind who only expected the finest china, shiny and new, and drank coffee with exotic names.

She looked at him for a few tense seconds then suddenly her face broke out in a smile. She looked even younger when she smiled and she surprisingly went from pretty to cute; her eyes lit up and the corners wrinkled, her nose scrunched slightly and a dimple appeared in her left cheek. Bobby found himself smiling with her.

"I'm sorry. Guess I'm being a little paranoid and a lot dramatic!" she beamed.

"More like a lot paranoid!" Bobby said still smiling, "I don't blame you though, this place is a dump."

"No, it isn't. It's interesting. It's like a car museum out there!" she gestured animatedly. Her general bearing loosened as she relaxed. "I would love to take a walk through it!" she said.

Bobby chuckled. She made it sound like the yard was a garden or something! "You're a car enthusiast?"

"Well ... I like cars yeah ... but it's more a love for vintage things!" A moment later she winced as she realised that might sound pretentious, and tried to rephrase her answer. "I'm nuts for classic cars! I've got a …" she trailed off as they got into the kitchen.

Bobby went off to start the coffee machine. Then he noticed the silence and turned round. She was standing stock still, with her eyes huge and shiny and her mouth open in the shape of an 'o'. She was the very picture of impressed awe!

"This room is amazing!" she finally exclaimed. "Is everything you own vintage, Mr. Singer? What are those phones for?" Then she took another step forward and turned to her left and looked straight into the study. "Oh wow, Mr. Singer! Are you a book collector too? Have you read them all?"

Bobby had never seen anyone this excited about his house. Sure, many people were impressed by the number of books he had procured over the years, so his study did manage to get a few oohs and aahs but vintage was one word no one had ever called his kitchen with all its old appliances. Bobby was oddly touched and he found himself liking this strange girl who looked like one thing and acted like another.

"Why couldn't a kid like this come out of the shadows and claim he was her father?" he groused internally. Not that it would ever happen; he'd never been the 'careless sow wild oats everywhere' kind of guy.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the coffee machine. He asked her how she liked her coffee. Her answer made him think of John again. Bobby hadn't seen or heard from the stubborn bastard in ages but he definitely remembered John took his coffee black. Had this girl researched this and thus started taking black coffee? Did she somehow inherit John's taste? Had she acquired it growing up with someone who drank it just so? Bobby internally chided himself for thinking too much about a simple thing like a kid's taste in coffee; after all, plenty of people took their coffee black!

The two of them sat down at the table he had placed next to the phones. They sipped their coffee in silence, neither one wanting to start the conversation. Then in a slightly desperate move to say something, she asked, "What are all those phones for? And why are they marked that way?"

No way was he answering that! So he ignored the question and asked his own, "Why do you think John is your father?"

"Well, I got this letter from my mother that said he was!" the girl answered without preamble.

"Letter? Your mother told you about your father in a letter? Was she mute or something?"

"I've actually never met my biological mother. I was adopted at birth."

"What? And you trust this woman who gave you away? A woman who told you about your father in a letter? Are you a damn idjit?" Bobby knew he was being incredibly harsh but he just wasn't in the mood for such a wishy-washy explanation.

She sprang up from the chair so fast and so violently that it flew backwards and crashed to the floor.

"First, you know nothing about my mother or the circumstances that led to my adoption, second, you know nothing about me, my instincts or my reasons for doing this and lastly, I only came to you for information on John not for insults or lectures or life lessons! Okay? Besides, I did not say I believed her, or disbelieved her, I just want to find out the truth about my parentage and this is where the information I have thus far has led me! If I had anything else to go on aside from this letter, trust me, I wouldn't be here!"

By the end of the tirade she had both hands planted on the table and her face was a few inches from his; her eyes flashing with anger. She took a huge breath, folded her shaking hands under her armpits and he could swear she physically gathered herself from the ends of her epic temper scale before adding in a controlled civil voice, "Thank you for the coffee."

She turned and began to stalk away.

Wow! Who knew a delicate looking thing like her had such a temper? And that such a melodic voice could manage to project such convincing fury?

Bobby couldn't help himself, he chuckled, "Wow, with that temper, I daresay you are his! Now, you can walk out right now and look for another lead, or sit yourself back down so we can talk about this. Your choice."

She stopped and stood still, breathing in and out, trying to calm herself down, and it was nearly a minute before she squared her shoulders, turned around and walked back to the table. She picked up her chair and sat back down.

"I apologise, I got a bit irate." she said coolly, politely. Her innate inner fire though blanketed with outward learned manners, was still smouldering through her eyes.

With a raised eyebrow, Bobby picked up on the sentence structure and word usage, and added another detail to his profile of this girl; she was well expressed, probably went to some preppy private school.

"Mmmm, I missed that!" he dead-panned.

Her expressive eyes lit up with a smile though her lips did not curl into one.

"So, can we start again, from the top?" he placated. She nodded her acquiesce. "Do you have that letter you talked about?" Again she nodded but made no move to produce it. "Eer, can I see it?" he pronounced each word distinctly like he was addressing a child. She looked ready to say no, so he preempted the refusal, "I have to see it before I tell John about you. The man is not known for his patience and I don't think he'll have much time for a letter."

For a second she looked like she was still going to argue with him but instead she reached inside her jacket and retrieved a folded piece of paper. She held it possessively.

"Umm, before I give you this, I just want to say that it's a little crazy but it's all I have as far as information about my father goes. So don't judge me for even considering it. You have to understand that I did a lot of research hoping to not have to use this letter as a lead so believe me when I say that this is the very last choice I had. I will understand if you read it and want nothing to do with me and I'll not hold it against you. However, I would really appreciate it if you don't withhold any information you may have. I will pay you by the way so it will not be for nothing."

Bobby's eyes widened in amazement and he idly wondered whether he would be able to catch her when she passed out because he was sure she had not paused even once for breath.

The girl finally noticed his poleaxed look and shrugged sheepishly, "Sometimes my mouth gets a little carried away!"

"You don't say!" Bobby remarked drily.

She laughed loudly, a funny sound that bubbled from deep within and was even more infectious than her smile.

"Okay, one, you don't need to pay me even if I give you information which I am not saying I have or will. And two, can I have the letter now?"

"So how are we going to do this?" she asked waving at the letter after she had composed herself.

"I've got it kid," Bobby said gruffly.

Her face fell in disappointment.

"Look, I think its best I go through this without you here to influence what I think, okay?" he tried to soften the blow.

"Oh! Yeeeeeah, that makes sense. I guess I'll go then and leave you to it. So erm, when do you think I should come back?"

"I'll give you a call. Leave me your number." She recited it, and slipping back into polite coolness, thanked him, and got up to leave. "I'm not going to start on this right now so if you want another cup of coffee?" He found himself offering. For some reason he did not want her to go.

"Really?" her eyes shone with relief and gratitude. Clearly Bobby wasn't the only one needing a little company. He nodded. "Thank you," she breathed. Bobby was touched once again. Waving him down she took his and her cup and went to pour them more coffee.

"Don't thank me kid, I'm doing this for selfish reasons, trust me. The only company I usually have is a dog but even he has a social life. A friend of mine took him hunting."

"Lately I haven't had much company myself!" She put down the cups and sat.

"You're just a kid! Where are your folks?" Bobby exclaimed.

He hadn't even once considered that the girl could be on this mission on her own. It was a Saturday so he had thought this was a quest she kept for weekends when she was not busy with school and that her parents had sanctioned the search and were a part of it. But with that last statement, he had to wonder. Did her parents even know what she was doing? Where she was? Shit, was she a runaway?

She dropped her eyes and her lip trembled for a few seconds before she spoke with a watery smile. "I don't know whether to be happy or insulted by that. I turned eighteen two months back!" She was quiet for a while then she took a deep breath and added in a strained whisper, "My parents died."

"I'm sorry kid," Bobby said in a warm sympathetic voice.

She half shrugged, then shook her head as if to clear it, and bit down on her lower lip. Then when it looked like she had managed to get her emotions under control, a couple of tears fell down her cheek. She huffed softly and wiped them away impatiently, looked up at the ceiling and blinked rapidly. More fell and again she wiped them with a quick almost angry dash of a fist across her face.

Bobby stared down at his cup of coffee like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen, only looking up when she finally spoke.

"I'm sorry for going on like this. I assure you, I'm not usually all over the place like I am today. I exercise a lot more control over my emotions."

Going on? The kid had barely made a sound! "Look, you don't have to hold your emotions so tightly in check around here. I won't think any less of you. Besides most things are better out than in anyway, and grieving is human!" he said kindly.

"You're very kind Mr. Singer. But if I were in your shoes and this complete stranger came to my door and in the space of one meeting acted paranoid, then became downright gleeful before getting irrationally angry, then switched to wordy explanations and finally ended with a sob fest, I would be running for the hills!' she sniffed.

Bobby threw his head back and laughed. This kid was a riot, yes a little bipolar, but funny nevertheless. His laugh seemed to startle her, then after a moment she grinned at him.

She asked to use the bathroom so she could wash her face and compose herself better, and when she returned, she found he had made sandwiches. Remembering her fascination with the salvage yard, Bobby suggested they eat outside. She readily agreed. They went out through the back door and sat down on the steps leading up into the house. She asked him questions about the wrecks, smiling at the outrageous stories of how he had acquired some of them.

"So what do you drive?" he asked.

She grinned and practically vibrated with joy. It was obvious she loved her car. He waited with bated breath. "You wanna see it?" she asked instead.

"Yeah sure. Where did you park anyway?" he hadn't heard a car drive up.

"Just up the road." They set off out of the salvage yard. They got to the road and there were four cars parked on the side.

She turned to Bobby and grinned, "Can you guess which one is mine?"

He knew immediately which one it was, not only because of its out of state plates, but because it suited her; a cool and polished exterior disguising a wild passionate nature. Parked a little lower down the road was a dark green almost black '62 Lincoln Continental.

Bobby had seen his share of classic cars, heck he was intimately familiar with a certain '67 Impala but this car was at the top of his list of classics. Understatedly elegant, and yet still hip, it had been a car truly ahead of its time.

She handed him the keys and watched him circle and examine the car in silence. Then he opened it and went inside. On the inside the car was dark red, and just like the outside, it was beautiful; it was immaculately restored, and the few modifications made to cater for modern tastes were understated and kept in line with the style of the car. Being a hunter, he couldn't help noticing and wondering about the medallion hanging from the rearview mirror. It was a St. Christopher medallion. Did she know its power or was its presence in the car just a lucky coincidence?

When he reluctantly got out of the car, he found her leaning against the passenger door behind the driver's, with a faraway look in her eyes.

"This is probably the most beautiful car I've seen!" he said truthfully. Dean would kill him if he heard this, but it was true. He would swear that he impala came a close second.

She straightened up, off the car and physically shook herself out of the memory she had disappeared into. She smiled at Bobby. "Thanks Mr. Singer. I was ten when my mom got this. I loved it from the minute I saw it, long before it was anything to look at. We restored it together, me and my mom. It took months cos she's ... was easily distracted! Dad tweaked it some after the restoration, said just because it was vintage didn't mean everything had to be old! Its colour was also his idea. Mom and I had no trouble deciding what colour the inside should be; we agreed on burgundy in a matter of seconds. But when it came to the outside, it was impossible to settle. She wanted it black, I wanted it green. Then dad suggested Brunswick green, which we'd both never heard of, he's ... was a bit of a geek that way! But yeah, he settled it for us. We both liked it, cos at night and in dim light it looks black but it's actually green." Emily wasn't usually a random sharer, and she wondered what it was about Bobby that made her reveal so much.

Bobby noticed how she kept on weaving between tenses for her parents, and knew it meant that she hadn't accepted the loss yet. That her mind was yet to wrap itself around her parents' absence. He felt an ache in his chest for this girl who was virtually a stranger. A stranger who inhabited a world far removed from his. A world of expensive cars nonchalantly parked on streets, a world of expensive clothes, a world where old meant vintage, a world of proper elocution and manners and repressed natures. She was a moneyed kid, he owned a junkyard, and yet he felt a kinship with her. They were both lonely.

"Enough of this Mr. Singer business! Call me Bobby."

"Really?"

"I called you an idjit, you yelled at me, you ate my food, drank my coffee, drooled over my junkyard and library, and I admired your car. I think we're past the stage of formalities now."

She laughed and reached out a hand for her keys. "Bobby it is then. But I think I should get going. I've taken enough of your time as it is." Plus, it was getting late.

"I have enjoyed your company so I say we're about even!"

"Thanks for everything."

"Yeah, sure … drive safe," he said as she got in the car.

"I will. Have a nice evening," she drove off.

The walk back to his house seemed longer without company. When he got home, he snagged his phone and made a call.

"So, is she?"

"Is who what?" Missouri huffed.

"Emily? Is she John's?"

"Bobby, is that junkyard of yours rotting your brain? You of all people should know I can only read thoughts and sense energies. All I know is, that girl desperately wants to find her father and I can sense she's conflicted; she desperately hopes John is the one and yet at the same time she hopes he isn't. If he turns out to be, her world which has already been rocked will irrevocably collapse!"

"Why?"

"I don't know why exactly, but I think she found some information that she feels she must disprove in order to regain faith in herself. I also sensed a deep sorrow and self inflicted loneliness. She's scared of getting close to anyone."

That was something Bobby could completely relate to.

He and Missouri chatted for a few minutes before he ended the call. He poured himself a shot of whiskey and unfolded the letter and began to read.